In Memoriam

That’s right: Patrick McGoohan died yesterday. I know he had other roles (but I didn’t recognize him as King Edward I in Braveheart), but like so many other fans, for me he was iconic as #6.

I just now learned of Chris’ death on January 10th—having never learned he was ill. This is quite a shock.

I just learned, via “cls”, that Marshall Fritz passed away last night. He’s another person I should’ve mentioned yesterday; I covered both the Advocates for Self-Government and Alliance for the Separation of School and State as a Free-Market.Net editor (the first of those links currently has a tribute to Marshall at the home page, with links to more information about his life).

My first in-person exposure to him came at the Freedom Summit to which we were both invited to participate. As I recall, the bulk of his contribution was in support of religion, yet in doing that he didn’t come across as condemnatory of those who didn’t believe. I was impressed by his sincerity and passion, even though I didn’t agree with that particular message.

Most individuals have probably come across his most famous bit of writing, perhaps without even knowing it: he wrote the World’s Smallest Political Quiz. For that alone—although he did much more to advance the cause of liberty—Marshall is truly one of the giants of our time. My condolences to his family, friends, and colleagues.

Bill Melendez—the man who gave Snoopy and all the Peanuts characters life—has died. He was the only person Charles Schulz allowed to animate them. I recognized the last name from other cartoons, but until reading that obit had no idea he’d worked on so many of the cartoons I enjoyed as a kid. Fantasia remains one of my favorite animated movies. It was that kind of quality work—and the relative intelligence of the cartoons back in those days, compared to newer ones—that led me to stop watching American-made cartoons several years ago. I have found some anime well worth watching, but that said, it’s much more for the very interesting story lines than the animation quality (although that exceeds the snippets of American cartoons I’ve caught).

Anyway, Melendez and Mendelson are familiar names from my misspent youth ... and now I’m wanting to find some of those lush Disney films and older cartoons for enjoying again. Maybe even with the snolfs, although they probably aren’t old enough to grok what I see in the older ‘toons.

I didn’t know Vince Miller very well on a personal level, despite working fairly closely with him at Free-Market.Net. But that experience—along with others, of course—truly revealed the measure of the man. It’s still very difficult to try to put all my rambling thoughts together, particularly since front and center is my keen pain at not having let Vince know what I think of him ... but it’s important to me to try.

From “cls” via email:

Vince Miller died this morning at approximately 8:15. Per his instructions he will be cremated. Vince asked that no formal funeral be held. A celebration of his life will be held at a future date. In lieu of cards or flowers those wishing to honor him are asked to contribute to Vince's life cause, the International Society for Individual Liberty. The most appropriate way to show appreciation for Vince is to do something for liberty. It was his passion and his great love.

I expected this very sad news, but even so, can’t collect my thoughts to say something more personal now. Cls has a fitting but brief tribute up.

As I recently was, I just learned that J. Orlin Grabbe passed away a couple of months ago. I don’t know much about the inside goings-on of the Costa Rica group of which Laissez Faire City Times was part, but Orlin always seemed straightforward with Lobo and me. And his web site was eclectic, even for an Erisian individualist! Orlin will be missed.

I have not been avoiding making note of H. Ben’s death several days ago ... rather, I’ve been quiet because I haven’t quite known what to say. Today, his family is hosting a memorial celebration of his life; and while I would like to attend in person with his many other friends, this will need to do.

I happened to see this report last Friday, but got busy and forgot to comment. Joe Nuxhall has died.

Ira Levin has died. Sure, he’ll be remembered more for Rosemary’s Baby and The Stepford Wives, but This Perfect Day is far and away his best novel in my opinion.

Over at his Technopagan Yearnings place, NeoWayland has shared a couple of pieces that have fired my thinking since I encountered them several days ago. The older one, Before Me, kinda-mostly explains the idea; and Before a Winter’s Eve, written just a couple of weeks ago (and which I saw first), is a second round of the exercise. At the risk of overstepping some unknown boundary, I offer a first take on honoring some of my important Befores.

Joey Bishop has died. I must say that I vaguely recall him—my Rat Pack faves were Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr.—but he will be missed with all of the gents. And I’ll miss them as much for their talents as for the camaraderie they displayed. Don’t think we’ll see the like again anytime soon.

Joe Zawinul changed my life.

I was fourteen years old when I first found out about Weather Report, from a copy of Down Beat in the high school library. Based on what was written about Zawinul and the group in that magazine, I knew I had to get my hands on an album somewhere.

As luck would have it, I found one in the cassette rack at Walgreen's a few weeks later, and I begged my mom to get it for me. She did.

Turns out, it wasn't even an actual Weather Report album; just a cheaply put-together bootleg compilation of tracks with Zawinul's picture on the cover.

I grew up in a baseball loving family. My grandmother followed the Cincinnati Reds faithfully, attending as many games as she could and listening to the others on the radio. Her son, my father, wasn't quite as devoted, but even so, when I got my first radio I joined them. I can't count the number of times I fell asleep listening to the game, always enjoying the easy banter of Al Michaels and Joe Nuxhall, and always hoping I'd make it to hear Joe say, "This is the old lefthander, rounding third and heading for home", at the close of his post-game wrapup. With a few exceptions, baseball teams were like families then.

When the strikes began, and I began to see that dollars were more important than people and relationships, my interest declined. Yes, it was a myth that I'd loved, but even so it hurt to see it so callously punctured in the sports and business pages.

One person sparked a small resurgence of interest. That was Kirby Puckett. A short, squat man, he played the game beautifully despite having such an improbable physique for it. It wasn't how well he played that captured my attention, however—it was his way of being. He seemed to always have a smile on his face, was always positive and upbeat. And he seemed to genuinely love playing the game. He was gracious in victory as well as defeat. I began watching the Minnesota Twins just to see him. He became an inspiration, an unlikely role model for me.

Then the Twins discarded him, and I stopped following baseball altogether.

I did hear that he was voted into the Hall of Fame. But my disgust with baseball overshadowed my interest in individuals, and my memories of Kirby faded. Until today.

Kirby Puckett died yesterday after having a stroke Sunday. He was just 45 years old. It may seem silly to many of you, that I'm devoting so much time to an athlete, and struggling to see this screen through a blur of tears, but Mr. Puckett was much more than an athlete to me. His love of the game and his can-do attitude were both singular attributes in these cynical times; that he possessed both elevated him to top-notch status in my mind. My world is a little darker today ... but I'm happy to have had a wealth of memories returned to me; and I hope I can inspire just one person the way Kirby Puckett inspired me.

I don't know what else to say.

I met Bark once, and, distracted, didn't take full advantage of the opportunity. So I don't know what kinds of conversations or mischief we might have found ourselves in, had we gotten to know each other better.

I regretted, almost immediately, that I didn't speak to him more. But I comforted myself with thoughts of "Next time".

There was no next time.